Part 21 (1/2)

He picked up the needle and plunged it into a bottle. The whisper came again.

”You use too much. He will die.”

”Not until it suits my purpose,” was the calloused response. ”Now get back. He'll come round before long.”

I forced myself to watch and remain pa.s.sive. The needle went into a vein, with a careless skill that suggested some medical expertise. I made a note of this, even while my skin crawled with loathing and hatred. Whatever the substance was, it was effective. Moments later Emerson stirred. His first word was a feeble but heartfelt oath. Tears came to my eyes, and I promised myself I would never again complain of any language he chose to employ.

His adversary laughed. ”Awake, are we? Another word or two, if you please, I want to be certain you are able to appreciate the treat I have for you.”

Emerson obliged with a pithy description of his captor's presumed parentage. The fellow laughed again.

”Excellent. I presume you are still unwilling to admit me to your confidence?”

”Your conversation has become tedious,” said Emerson. ”How many times must I repeat that I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about? Even if I were able to supply the information you want I would not, I have taken a dislike to you.”

”Give up any hope of rescue.” The other man's voice hardened. His toe nudged the square object, which I now saw to be a wooden hatch or cover. ”Have you also forgotten what lies beneath this?”

”Again you repeat yourself,” was the bored reply ”I don't know where you get these melodramatic notions. Out of some novel, I suppose.”

This comment seemed to madden the villain. He darted forward, for a moment I thought he would strike his helpless prisoner. Mastering himself with an effort that made his upraised hand quiver, he hissed, ”The well is at least forty feet deep. If anyone attempts to force his way in here, the guard will see that you have the opportunity to measure its precise depth.”

”Yes, yes, you said that.” Emerson yawned.

”Very well. Let us see if I have found a means of persuading you to change your mind.”

Leaving the lamp on the table, he went to the door. Emerson's eyes followed him, the pupils were so dilated they looked black instead of blue. After a moment the door opened again and the man entered, pus.h.i.+ng a slighter form before him.

She would have deceived ME. The costume she wore was an exact copy of my old working uniform- Turkish trousers, boots, and all- even a belt hung with tools. Her hair was the same jet-black, it tumbled over her shoulders, as if it had been loosened in a struggle. Her supposed captor's arm pinned hers to her sides and held her back out of the light, so that her features would have been hard to make out even if a white cloth had not covered the lower part of her face.

”A visitor to see you, sir,” said the unknown, in a mocking parody of a butler's announcement. ”Haven't you an affectionate greeting for your wife?”

Emerson's face was impa.s.sive. Only his eyes moved, from the top of the woman's head to her boots, and back again. ”She does appear to be female,” he said, in an offensive drawl. ”Hard to tell at first, in that outlandish garb . . .”

”You claim you don't recognize your own wife?”

”I don't have a wife,” Emerson said patiently. ”I seem to have forgotten a good many things, but of that I am certain.”

”You contradict yourself, Professor. How can you be certain if you claim to be suffering from amnesia?”

A gasp of laughter came from Emerson's cracked lips. ”Whatever else may have slipped my mind, I could hardly forget something so monumentally stupid. Never in my weakest moment would I be d.a.m.ned fool enough to saddle myself with a wife.” Narrowing his eyes, he went on, ”Is she, by any chance, the female who brought me food and water yesterday ... or the day before . . . can't remember . . .”

His eyes closed. The woman had bowed her head-in shame, I hoped. The man who held her loosened his grasp. She shrank back against the wall and pulled the gag from her face.

”He is fainting,” she whispered. ”Let me give him something-water, at least . . .”

Fists on his hips, the villain studied her with a sardonic smile. ” 'O Woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please . . . When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!

I Minister, then. If he dies before I can get that d.a.m.ned woman into my hands I'll have no means of persuading her to talk.” He turned to the door, adding, over his shoulder, ”Don't be long.”

She waited until the door had slammed before relaxing. A long sigh issued from her lips.

”I have never understood the female s.e.x,” said a voice from the bed. ”Why do you tolerate such treatment?”